Antipathy and Affluence
by Collie Parkillo
Summary: Rich boys can't stay rich forever, eventually everybody ends up in the scrapings of the street, and Dirk Stebbins is no exception. Victorian!AU, multiple pairings. In-progress multichapter.
1. Chapter 1

Dirk Stebbins was usually either bored, gambling, complaining, or all of the above.

When your life consisted of sitting on ornate chairs and eating whatever was handed to you on silver plates while your parents were off on year-long business trips, you were bound to get a little bored, weren't you? Or at least that was what Stebbins always convinced himself as he spent away another pile of his parents' money on trivialities.

And the parlor happened to be filled with such trivialities. Leaning back against the burgundy of the couch, Stebbins stretched out his legs and yawned, not out of tiredness but out of _boredom._

No matter how hard he tried, that boredom was always there. The soft, velvety couch wouldn't cure it, the soft fabric of the rug beneath his bare feet didn't help at all, and none of the ornate lamps or taxidermy animals provided any interest at all, save for sometimes giving him a sense of what a successful young man he'd become.

"Young master?"

Stebbins turned to the servant girl in the doorway, a small, shy girl with dark, curly hair whom he didn't remember the name of. "Yes?"

She looked down, blushing. "Your...parents have just...returned."

He was tempted to snap at her for speaking to him so casually, just for the sake of watching her flustered expression and hearing her stutter, but then remembered that she was around his age and that he should probably feel some sort of empathy for her.

"After how long?" He mused aloud, pulling himself up from the couch and padding across the room to the door.

"I d-don't know!"

"I wasn't asking you," he said coolly, pushing past her. He would never admit it, but Stebbins was sweating. If they hadn't already been informed of the fact that their quiet, pensive Dirk spent his time sending out servants to gamble away the family money on the streets while he himself made large towers of playing cards on the mahogany coffee tables that that money had helped to buy.

Stebbins had grown to realize that no one liked a cheater, but everyone eventually grew to tolerate one. The maids had looked at him with wide eyes and his parents' butlers muttered under their breaths, but no one did a thing to stop him.

And that was what Stebbins liked about life. That no matter how many times you stomped on people's lives and ruined them, no one would say anything.

But here, facing his parents, Stebbins' throat caught and he suddenly found himself standing frozen in the doorway, unable to move his feet any further. "Young master?" The small, dark-haired maid again. She knew why he'd suddenly lost his cool. That was something Stebbins really despised. When people knew all the reasons and still asked stupid questions.

"Yes?" He flashed her a smile and started walking again, staring straight ahead of him and ignoring the lump that was beginning to rise in his throat.

She said nothing, and watched him curiously from afar. Stebbins couldn't have cared less whether she followed him, he only really cared that she and the rest of the household staff kept their mouths shut.

All of the servants had apparently scattered, seeing as there was no one to open the door for him. Stebbins swallowed hard again, and pulled open the door.

"Dirk."

His father was a tall, imposing man who, even as Stebbins looked at him for the first time in what might have been a year, Stebbins did not understand in the least. He was a war hero, but Stebbins didn't know from what war or when or even what he'd done to earn the title of war hero.

It then hit him that he wasn't even aware of his father's first name, and the man's glare got more and more terrifying the longer he stared into the small, pig-like eyes.

His mother was a quiet, softspoken woman who rarely looked anyone in the eyes and he'd often wondered how someone like her had ever agreed to marry someone like his father, who rarely took his eyes of off anyone's and shouted more than anyone Dirk had ever known.

"Hello, Father. Hello, Mother." He hoped that the childish edge he gave to his voice made him look less guilty, not like a seventeen-year-old who'd been running the household by buying luxuries for himself. "I've missed you _awfully."_

His father grabbed his shoulder as though he was trying to push his son into the steps of the house. At this moment, Stebbins wouldn't have particularly minded being pushed into the pavement. "Dirk, where is our _money?!"_

"What?" Stebbins looked up at him innocently.

"You know what I'm referring to."

"You were gone for two years. What did you expect me to do, go off to that boys' school and sit around with the others and be hit with a ruler? I'm not that stupid."

A look of shock passed over his father's face, and then traveled to his mother's. "You mean...you didn't go to school?" She sounded aghast, and Stebbins felt something in his chest tighten. It was one thing to see his father angry, but another to see his mother disappointed in him.

But he made a tsk sound and laughed softly, trying to get rid of the growing guilt and discomfort. "Again, what did you expect? I told them, in your voices, that I was a sickly boy and not, in fact, ready for education with such rowdy boys."

His parents' jaws seemed to drop at the same time. "You what?

"However, I have learned some worthwhile things right here at home." His father's face was red, and Stebbins could almost hear him gritting his teeth. He struggled to keep his tone clear and reasonable. "I am old enough to be out of school. To be married, even." The idea of marriage made his stomach churn, but anything to keep his parents' tempers from exploding.

"And what of the scheduled dinners with your potential brides?"

Stebbins paled, then quickly tried to will color back into his skin. If you looked like you were lying, you probably were. "Of course I had them over. None of them felt very suitable, but of course I had them over."

His mother looked down, tangling her hands in the back of her hair out of nervousness. He wondered how much taller he was than her now. His parents exchanged glances, and then his father promptly slapped his face.

The hand colliding with his cheek made it sting more than it should have. "You spent all our money, refused to go to the school which we paid for, and then declined all the pretty young girls whose families sought after you!" His voice was a roar, and Stebbins suddenly found himself wanting shrink inside of his own skin. Was that how cheats and liars always felt?

"You, Dirk, have shamed our whole family, past and present!"

"W-we can discuss it inside! Please!" The prospect of what his family might be planning reduced him to begging. There were only two or so options for them if they didn't want him, and neither of them were particularly pleasant.

"I never want to see you inside my house again!"

His mother reached out to touch him, then decided against it, and Stebbins felt himself beginning to become infuriated with his parents. Family was only a temporary part of life, but it was supposed to be a comfortable temporary part of life.

"You...surely you don't mean..." His voice sounded far more terrified than he would have preferred.

"Yes. Out, Dirk! Street scum!" His father called him a few more less polite words than 'street scum', and Stebbins backed up, sensing that there wasn't much he could do. He went spilling backwards over the stairs, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

He swore he heard his mother say some words of comfort, but it was quickly lost in the sound of the door slamming shut. His door. The door that had been under his control, the door that servants had walked in and out of and potential wives' families had had slammed in their face.

Dirk brushed himself off, trying to retain his dignity as well as the cleanliness of his clothes, and got up and began to walk.

* * *

**this was going to be longer and then i just got lazy but yeah the next chapter will have street urchin!parker and abraham and all that jazz yEAH i claim no ownership to the long walk**


	2. Chapter 2

The streets were not somewhere that Dirk Stebbins had ever expected to end up. His only knowledge of them was of romantic land of novels where poor boys fell in love with rich girls and then went from their poor, filthy boys in dirty, ragged clothes to rich men with affluent, successful lives. And frankly, it'd look a lot more like that from the comfort of the other side of his window.

Actually walking on them was just loud and rough and the cobblestones were beginning to make his feet hurt through his shoes. Not only were there mobs of people everywhere, they were mobs of dirty, yelling people who wanted to rob you.

And did he really deserve to be among people like this? He was a first-class gambler, a first-class citizen, and a damn good person. Not sentimentally, of course, but as in that he was certainly a good contribution to society who brought worthwhile things into the cesspool of humanity. That was more than could be said for most people.

He stepped over a large puddle of some unidentified substance that probably was something much grosser than water.

And that was when he noticed the thief.

He was a tall, lanky boy with messy dark hair and a scar across his cheek. He appeared to be running from somebody, and dragging a girl in a cloak behind him. Stebbins couldn't make out her face, but she ran pretty clumsily for a lady. But he supposed that that was the way of the streets.

"Excuse me, sir?" The thief spoke in a light, almost classy accent. "Have you seen a small, dark boy of about sixteen around here? Roughly this tall?" He gestured with one hand, the other one clutching the lady's hand.

Now that he had a closer look at the lady's face, he noticed that it was freckled and dark chestnut bangs fell across her face. Her nose was a bit pointy, but other than that she wasn't homely.

"Never seen him," Stebbins replied.

The thief raised his eyebrows. "Never seen the second best robber in the neighborhood? Other than myself, of course." He smiled at the girl with him. "But his name is Gareth Barkovitch and he's the worst criminal in the neighborhood. I steal with honor, right, Raymond?"

Stebbins looked surreptitiously at the lady. What kind of girl was named Raymond? Taking a closer glance at her face, he noticed that she had no decorative hairstyle or even long hair.

Was that…a boy?

"Don't stare, I'm not a patient person." The thief tapped his fingers against the wall they were standing against. "But say, if you see Barkovitch, tell him that Pete McVries tells him to stay away."

"Why are you fleeing with a boy dressed as a lady?!"

"That, my friend, is none of your business. What's your name, chap?" The overly sarcastic, cheery demeanor of McVries with his leering, slanted smile accented by his scar made Stebbins want to hit him.

"That's none of your business. I don't associate with filth like you, you, you…fruit!" That was what you called boys who slept with boys, right? He hoped it would offend the thief enough to make him go away.

McVries shrugged and grinned. "You're awfully rude for someone of your size. You ought to curb your temper a bit. Well, see you!" He took hold of Raymond's hand and started back to fleeing down the street.

Stebbins decided that he most certainly didn't like Pete McVries.

He'd scarcely made a few feet when a boy fitting the description McVries had given him practically jumped down from the roof in front of him. He was indeed very short and rather dark and terribly dirty.

"Who in the hell are you and why are you in my way?"

Stebbins considered throwing a punch, but then realized that that would be incredibly improper and probably wouldn't be terribly effective anyways. "A dirty-looking, queer fellow called Pete McVries said to watch out for him or the like."

Barkovitch, if that was really he, snorted. "He says that every other day, idiot. He was with the short, brunet boy in the dress, right?"

"He wasn't in a dress."

"Under the cloak he is. It's unsightly, believe me, and I know a thing or two about unsightly." Barkovitch grinned, a scary, far too wide grin. His smile was like a large crescent on his bronze face. "What's a prissy lookin' little flower like you doing down here?"

"Cease to speak."

Barkovitch laughed raucously. "Really, who are you? You look like you're rich as hell! Say, got anything on you?"

"You may call me Stebbins, and no, I do not have anything 'on me,' so to speak. You are street filth and I am diamonds, metaphorically speaking, and I would not like to speak with you."

"You ain't gonna get any slack here with that kinda attitude, dearie." Barkovitch laughed again. Unlike McVries, there was nothing classy about this thief. "Hey, let me take a gander. Y'got kicked out of your house and you're stuck here now?"

"How did you guess?"

Barkovitch shrugged. "Happens every day. None of 'em last too long. Where'd McVries head off to?" Barkovitch crudely imitated Stebbins' voice. "I don't wanna associate with the likes of you."

"That wasn't accurate in the least."

"Don't give a damn." Stebbins spit in Barkovitch's face.

"Say, you're kinda funny. Spittin' in my face like that. Follow me, Stebbins. Dunno why Petie let ya live. He won't stand for your kinda sass normally. M'be he thinks you're pretty or somethin'."

Stebbins glared at Barkovitch, who grabbed onto his arm and dragged him behind him. "It'll look good for me to have somebody like you with me. Good for ransom."

Stebbins paled, suddenly. "I'm kiddin'. Well, not really."

This was definitely not what he'd intended to happen to him when he was kicked out onto the streets.

* * *

**wow i forgot how much i like writing this **


	3. Chapter 3

Barkovitch, as Stebbins soon learned, was not a very reliable companion.

He yelled a lot, would lose his temper at the drop of a hat, and seemed to think that everyone had the same physical flexibility that he had. Meaning that he would jump from a pile of leftover ship cargo to a roof and then immediately assume that Stebbins could do the same, which was untrue.

Needless to say, racing around the city with him searching for a fairly common looking boy with a borderline psychopath was not one of Stebbins' preferred activities.

And it was starting to darken out. The thought of sleeping on the street like vermin like Barkovitch made Stebbins feel sick. "Say, Barkovitch, where do you sleep?"

"Who gives a damn? Anywhere."

That didn't sound like nice accommodations to Stebbins. "Don't you have a bed?"

Barkovitch laughed wryly. "'Course not. Don't have a home, don't have a bed, and I like it a hell of a lot better that way. Probably a load more comfortable than the goose feather crap you sleep on." Barkovitch had a habit of grinning widely after everything he said, and it was kind of creepy.

"You're obnoxious."

"Shut yer trap, rich scum." The sky was beginning to turn from a pale grey to a darker grey slightly tinged with orange. "It'll get dark soon, n' someone like you'll probably get snapped up real quick in the dark. Hell, you probably'd ask for directions from a real basket case."

"Your point being?"

"I'm gonna take you out anyways, regardless of whether ya die or not." Barkovitch's knife-gash of a smirk could have made anybody turn white from fear.

"That's ridiculous! Do you want to kill me?"

He shrugged. "I kinda thought about it, but it's funny seein' ya get all up in arms about city life. The one thing you've got goin' for you is that you're good entertainment."

"That's not comforting."

"Wasn't s'posed to be." Barkovitch then started off into the quickly darkening street, barely visible among the masses of people. He sort of reminded Stebbins of a small, angry shadow. If shadows were bad-tempered and obnoxious and hadn't bathed for years.

"Hey, kid."

He was about to start after Barkovitch when he turned around to see a pair of boys a little older than him leaning against the wall. One of them looked drunk, but other than that they actually looked fairly normal. Stebbins couldn't formulate a very good response, so he just waited for them to continue.

"Y'look lost. Where are y'headed to?" The drunk-looking one leaned against his partner, smiling.

"I'm with Barkovitch," Stebbins said frankly.

The two boys looked at each other. The drunk one was tall and redheaded, and his companion was a stocky, muscular blond who probably was some sort of dock worker. But their clothing suggested that they were some sort of street scoundrel. Like newsboys, but without the cuteness appeal to buy the news. Probably thieves too, Stebbins decided.

"Really, huh? Where'd he pick up somethin' like you?" The blond one had a heavy accent reminiscent of some kind of countryfolk. The pair advanced on Stebbins so that one was on either side of him.

"I don't give out my personal story to strangers."

"C'mon, we're not bad blokes," the redhead said. The blond nodded in agreement. "I'm Abraham, n' this over here is Collin—"

'Collin' shoved him. "That ain't my fuckin' name!"

"Fine, this is _Parker_. Y'lookin' for a place to stay the night? Gets pretty wild around these parts during the dark hours." Stebbins didn't want to know what sort of 'wild' Abraham meant. It was bad enough during the day.

Stebbins looked around for Barkovitch, who had seemingly left him behind. Maybe it was better that way. Barkovitch was most likely more dangerous than Parker and Abraham could be. "Yes, do you have an offer to make?"

"We usually sleep in the back of one of 'em shops that stay open late. The clerk girls don't mind us much."

"More than don't mind." Parker grinned. "Yeah, if ya need a place to stay, there's a load o' space back in the storage closet at the flower shop."

"I accept."

Parker shook his hand with far too much force. "Y'got yourself a deal. But if that Barkovitch comes lookin' for ya, we aren't gonna help you. That guy's no good. If I had t'pick a side in that little feud of his, I'd pick Pete's, personally."

"Feud?"

Parker laughed. "Yeah, feud. He n' McVries have been fightin' for control of this area since they were 'bout eleven. Kinda funny, actually, seein' as Pete just wants to get out of here but he thinks he oughta settle his score with Barkovitch first."

"He's queer," Stebbins blurted out.

"What of it?" Abraham clapped Stebbins on the back. "C'mon, it isn't too far from here and Priscilla gets all hissy if we come in after closing hours."

It turned out that Priscilla was a tall, slender clerk girl with a mane of dark hair and a bad temper. "I swear to god, I'll kick you two out tonight. You're always makin' too much noise at night and my father's gonna get suspicious."

"You say that every night." Abraham shoved her playfully, and she made a noise that sounded almost like a small snarl. Priscilla spat some curse words at him and told him to do several obscene acts to himself and his mother. Stebbins concluded that she was a fairly typical girl of their age.

The storage room which they'd referred to was a pile of sacks and empty pots in a back room. "We sleep on the sacks, ya can take your pick of whatever sleepin' space you want."

Stebbins settled himself on a few of the sacks. They were scratchy and he could feel some sort of seed inside them. Well, it certainly wasn't silk sheets and feather-stuffed pillows, but sleeping on a pile of sacks of what appeared to be seeds was certainly better than cavorting around with Barkovitch.


End file.
